seemed that the owner of the boat which was supposed to have taken them had celebrated too freely the previous night and was still out of combat.
They’d no sooner done that job than a guest at the wedding hired them to transport a dozen sheep to the nearest market.
By word of mouth their business had grown. The larger islands were served by the regular ferry lines but the smaller and more remote communities were badly in need of such a service as the Miranda could provide.
It had been the most wonderful two years of her life but it couldn’t last. Their father had rightly enough decided that their education was being sadly neglected and, much to their dismay and his sorrow, he’d sent them back to separate boarding-schools in England.
After the free and easy life aboard the Miranda the rigours and discipline of a strict school had been like a douche of cold water, but looking back on it now she knew that it had been a valuable experience.
Greece of course was only a few hours away by plane and every school holiday had found her and Jimmy flying out to spend another few glorious weeks with their father.
Then she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. Even now, seven years later, she still felt sick at heart when she thought about it. She’d been eighteen, and with her father’s approval she’d decided to stay in England and go to university, but she’d never even got as far as applying for a place. Oh, no. Trust her to make a mess of everything.
She pinned the picture of her father back on the bulkhead then stared at herself in the mirror. No. She wasn’t going to think about Victor. That was all in the past. It was history and she had no desire to re-open old wounds.
Hurt and bewildered at the time, her first thought had been to rejoin her father but she’d had second thoughts. For one thing, Jimmy had still been at school and it might have seemed to him that he was being deserted and forgotten. But there had also been a darker and deeper reason—guilt and a feeling of self-disgust. A failed relationship surely didn’t mean that she herself was a failure, did it? The only way to find out was to stay and try to make it on her own.
She’d enrolled in a college for a two-year course in business studies, then, armed with her diploma, she’d set out, brimming with confidence, to land a job worthy of her talents.
Well, there were jobs in plenty. Part-time checkout operator. Part-time barmaid or waitress. Girls with better qualifications than she had were cleaning offices to earn a living.
Things would get better once the recession was over, they kept telling her. She’d eventually landed a job with a travel agency where her knowledge of the Greek islands and proved a great asset, but the sight of all those tempting travel brochures had only unsettled her and made her long once more for the feel of a deck beneath her feet. Nevertheless she had stuck it out.
It was two years later when her father had died in a sudden and tragic accident. Jimmy had left school by now and had started an apprenticeship in a local garage. They had both flown out in time for the funeral and found comfort in each other’s arms at this time of the greatest grief they had ever known.
When the service was over they had both shaken hands with the many friends who’d come to pay their last respects, then their father’s lawyer had driven them to his office.
There was a little money, he had explained, but if they were interested he could dispose of the Miranda for them. He was sure he could find a buyer prepared to pay a reasonable price.
‘No!’ She and Jimmy had turned down the offer in unison and they had looked at each other in mutual understanding. The Miranda had been their father’s dream and to sell it to a stranger would be an insult to his memory. Besides, England no longer held anything for them. They’d keep the Miranda and carry on the business their father had started.
The lawyer had looked at them doubtfully but when she had assured him that she and Jimmy could easily handle the Miranda between them he’d reluctantly given in and agreed to see to the necessary formalities and paperwork.
Three days later, full of confidence and with a list of their father’s regular calls, they had set off in the Miranda to deliver a load of piping and a water pump destined to make life easier for the villagers on a tiny island south of Naxos…
The faint noise broke into her thoughts and she felt the slight tremor as the engine began throbbing. Good. Jimmy must have returned. Now she could tell that interfering stranger to go away and mind his own business.
Her blue eyes stared back at her critically from the mirror. The years in the sun had bleached her naturally blonde hair to platinum. Usually, for practical reasons, she kept it short, but she hadn’t been near a hairdresser for months. Now she simply tied it back carelessly with a black ribbon. She never wore make-up, not even on the rare occasions when they found themselves calling at one of the larger islands during the tourist season. Her complexion and colouring were entirely due to her active outdoor way of life. No cosmetic had yet been made that could compete against sunshine and soft rain.
Finally she slipped her feet into a pair of ropesoled sandals and made her way up on deck.
Emerging into the daylight, she stood for a moment frozen in surprise, then she gasped in outrage. Not only had the stranger managed to start the engine, he’d also cast off the bow and stern lines and was now in the wheelhouse, and they were already a hundred yards away from the jetty and heading out to the open sea!
Frantically she gazed around the deck and into the engine compartment but there was no sign of her brother. Furiously she called up to the wheelhouse, ‘Hey! You there! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Turn this boat round immediately.’
The stranger ignored her for a few moments while he consulted the compass reading then he locked the wheel and casually descended to the deck to confront her.
He still wasn’t wearing his damn shirt, she noted with discomfort, and she glared at him. ‘Turn this boat round. My brother isn’t here yet.’
The green eyes were now roving over her body with an intense interest and the raising of a dark, quizzical eyebrow gave his lean features an even more devilish look. ‘Surely you can’t be the woman I was talking to a few minutes ago?’ he drawled. ‘She was shapeless and covered in oil. You can’t possibly be the Carrie Stevens I came to see. Are you?’
She felt practically naked under his hard stare of undisguised lust and her mouth went dry. ‘L-look…’ she stammered ‘…you’ve no right to—’
He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I hadn’t expected anyone quite so sexually attractive, Miss Stevens. But the fact that you are will make my mission a pleasure rather than mere duty.’
She had no idea what he was talking about but by the sound of it she was in deep trouble. Taking a deep breath, she put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m going to report this act of piracy to the police. You’ll be in big trouble.’
‘No, you won’t, Miss Stevens.’ He suddenly showed a row of white teeth in a shark-like ironic smile. ‘“Miss Stevens” sounds far too formal. Since we’re going to have a very intimate relationship I think I’ll call you Carrie from now on. I am Nikos Spirakis.’ He paused and for a moment his jade eyes gleamed with cold amusement. ‘Does that name mean anything to you, Carrie?’
She let her eyes smoulder at him in anger for a moment then she snapped, ‘No. Why should it? I’ve never…’ She paused as a sudden thought flashed into her head. Spirakis? No, it couldn’t be! And yet…There was something about him. He had that cold selfassurance that only wealth and power could bestow. She looked at him more closely then said hesitantly, ‘The…the only Spirakis I’ve heard of is the family who own half the ships and olive groves…’
He raised a hand. ‘I know exactly what we own. You could say that we are one of the richest and most powerful families in Greece.’ There was no hint of a boast in his voice. He was merely stating a fact.
She gulped. Everyone knew about the Spirakis family but if